Scald Burns
by New Wonder
Summary: Kili doesn't really know what he's doing, as much as he'd like to pretend otherwise. Kili/Bilbo.


An owl cried out in the dark, shrill and ominous, and Kili shuddered involuntarily. It certainly was a chilly night, he thought.

And it certainly was unwise, Kili mused, to stray away from the fireplace in such an hour, with danger still lingering in the air like a foul smell. Who knew what vile creatures might lurk in the dark, seeking to lay their ferocious paws on one of their company.

Kili was not a dwarf many would call wise; such often was the ilk of Durin's folk. Wild and reckless, that's what the elders used to call him. They sighed and shook their heads, always more resigned than disappointed, but every once in a while one of the trusted dwarves would remember, with a half-smile, the time when mighty, noble and stern uncle Thorin, the one Kili and Fili always looked up to, had been just as rash and hot-headed as Kili himself.

Now he was dark and silent, like the two brothers had always remembered him. And he was strong, in body and in spirit, the arm that fell countless enemies, the glare that sent even the fiercest enemies running for their life on shaking legs. But still, wisdom and good judgment were always something he had to rely on Balin for.

Kili knew full well that craftiness and sagacity were not a weapon he wielded with great skill. But even though that was a bow he couldn't shoot, he felt confident, now, about his reasoning; namely, that their burglar shouldn't be let wander in the dark, alone. For even if his lies to the trolls were less than flattering, they'd still kept the imminent, shameful death away from them, and Kili definitely was not going to complain about that. And the small creature was amusing, he supposed; it was a rare happenstance to meet a person even smaller than the dwarves, one that wouldn't, for once, look down on them.

But no, Bilbo was far too nice for that; he liked to fuss and grumble, surely, and cared about his stomach far too much for his own good, and he missed his home fervently (this, Kili could barely understand, himself born in exile and raised in wanders); and it seemed, at first, as if the hobbit were afraid even of his own shadow. But he had a kind and loyal heart underneath his splendid green waistcoat, soft and cosy and useless in the woods, and that was an even more rare gift than wisdom, Kili thought sometimes, and all the more precious for that.

So when Bilbo Baggins went to wash his face in a murky stream nearby, Kili worried.

He worried a lot about their burglar, these days. Each time Bilbo managed to worm his way into trouble, it was like a needle to the gut, one that stayed there until Bilbo was safe and ached still after that. Their burglar had snuck his way into Kili's head, somehow, and sat there quite pleased with himself, casually smoking his pipe, and staunchly refused to leave.

Who knew, maybe he really was as good as the old wizard made him out to be. But Kili was rather sure that glorified hobbit power had effect on him alone, for some reason. And he definitely wasn't a dragon, so that skill, if impressive, was hardly of any use whatsoever for their grand cause...

Come to think of it, where was the burglar?

There was no sound of twigs crackling under light hobbit feet, no leaves rustling in Bilbo's wake. Kili frowned. The worry gnawed at him from the inside, rendering him restless and unable to think.

Frustrated, he finally shook his head and rose to his feet. The torch flamed up, crackling, and sent long ragged shadows dancing on the ground.

oooooooo

The night was gloomy and quiet, without a single star in the pitch-black sky, and the narrow sickle of the moon was yellow and waning; and danger still hung in the air like threads of cobweb, a viscous, barely perceptible presence. The pallid moonlight lay glimmering on Bilbo's hair, rendering its colour a strange shade between precious silver and washed-out grey, and the skin of his back and arms looked deathly pale.

Back... and arms. Kili looked upon the hobbit's naked torso, and there was that needle again, lodged deep in his gut, that feeling as if an invisible hand suddenly grabbed his intestines and twisted, viciously.

Bilbo's skin was so white in the moonlight, so unlike the darkish hue common between dwarves. Bilbo's sides and arms were a bit chubby, and that was _after_ he lost so much weight in their travels, with all the dangers and worries, that the famed waistcoat hung loose on him. There wasn't much muscle under that skin, and that body looked awfully soft. No strong arms to wield a weapon, no hard muscle to carry the weight of armour, nothing – just this horribly vulnerable softness.

It seemed somehow – inviting, too; as if it said, 'there isn't much for battle here, but this might feel so nice to the touch.' Kili chewed on his lip and wondered what to make out of _that_ thought of his.

It was as if Bilbo had somehow felt his gaze, because he turned around and met his stare with his own clueless one, blinking fast and wiping water from his eyes. Wet hair clung to his face, and drops of water glistened faintly on his chest.

"Kili?" he enquired. "What are you doing here? Did something happen?"

"Huh?" Bilbo had a mole on his stomach, just below the belly button. It was very black in the dark, like a small hole in Bilbo's body where the night oozed through.

Kili gulped and shivered, hard. This was just unfair.

Bilbo made a hushed, surprised, damnably soft sound when he felt Kili's lips on his. Kili's hands were everywhere: he needed to make sure if this body was as delicate as it looked, if it was as pleasant to touch as it promised, if that gaping hole into the night was really just a silly mole.

And it was, and it was, and it was, and Bilbo, frozen at first, finally sighed into Kili's lips and tilted his head to better see his face.

"What was that?" he asked.

Kili paled and squeaked out a desperate, "Sorry!" He didn't know what he had been thinking, oh, right – he _hadn't_, and what would Bilbo think of him now, and _why did he do that, anyway?_

"Hey," to Kili's surprise, the voice was not reproachful in the slightest, and a gentle, steady hand brushed against Kili's jaw. "What is it? Was it the first time for you – kissing someone, _kissing a man_?"

"Of course it wasn't!" Kili said indignantly, his earlier shame forgotten. "I have lain with both women and men, and I'll have you know that not a single one of them left my bed without asking for more!"

For some reason, Bilbo seemed to find that funny. His lips twitched, as if in an effort to keep down a smile, and the corners of his mouth lifted upwards ever-so-slightly. Kili glared at him. He was young, for sure, but that didn't mean he was inexperienced in the ways of love between a man and a woman... or two men, for that matter.

Bilbo regarded him, somewhat shrewdly. Then he rose on his tiptoes, took Kili's face in his palms and kissed, sweetly and softly and – tamely, for the lack of a better word, but with a sudden nip of teeth in the end.

"You – don't mind? To do this? With a man? Do hobbits... do that, too?'" Kili stammered, completely gobsmacked. Surely this was some kind of a strange dream. Kili wasn't sure he wanted to wake up, though.

"I haven't married for a reason, you know," Bilbo informed him conversationally. "And I don't think I ever will, after I come back home to Shire."

For some reason, the thought of Bilbo leaving for Shire reverberated with hungry desperation through Kili's body. He looked at Bilbo's face, but it was obscured by the shadows, only the whites of his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Kili attacked him with kisses as he would an enemy with arrows. The thought of Bilbo leaving was a physical ache in his guts, and he didn't know what to do with it but fight back.

"Okay, alright, a little less drool, please," Bilbo said breathlessly, but he was laughing. "Come on, let's sit down."

And Kili sat down on the cool grass, his hands clutching at Bilbo's arms, as if they somehow possessed a will of their own; and Bilbo – eased down on Kili's lap, a soft warm weight smelling of sweat and dust and tea.

"Guh," Kili said. He might have added something equally intelligent, but Bilbo frowned impatiently and said:

"Well, get on with it."

So Kili shut up and went back to the kissing.

Bilbo's naked torso right next to his own was patently distracting, so Kili let his hands wander. Bilbo sighed when a palm slid down his side, then gasped when a thumb brushed his nipple, then bit on Kili's lip when said nipple was tweaked quite mercilessly. Kili grinned and experimentally snuck a hand under the breeches. Bilbo moaned into Kili's mouth and arched into him, fingers tangling in Kili's hair.

"Was it a long time for you?" Kili couldn't help but ask, for some reason wishing that the answer was 'yes'.

"No, not particularly," Bilbo considered. "It had been – what, half a month before you noisy dwarves showed up to bother me?"

Kili never let him finish. He growled and flipped Bilbo on his back, making a short work of his breeches.

"Whoa, whoa, easy, Mr. Dwarf! These have enough holes in them as they are. Here, let me– Okay, okay," he lifted his hands as Kili shut his mouth with his lips, then nuzzled into the soft hair beneath Bilbo's ear. "Show me what you've got, then."

And, Mahal help him, Kili wanted to show him, what it was like to have a true man, so Bilbo would never so much as think about going back to whoever he had back home in the Shire, ever again.

He hurriedly ripped Bilbo's breeches off and shoved his legs apart; the hobbit seemed a little overwhelmed but he went with it nonetheless, wrapping his legs around Kili's waist, lifting his hips to meet Kili's greedy hands. And it was hot, so very hot all of a sudden on this chilly night, and Kili's mind was melting, and his body was on fire, burning with need, scalding desire rushing through his veins, and no-one could have torn his hands away from the body underneath him, lest they hacked them off with an axe.

This body, so ridiculously, deliciously soft, was his from now on, and Kili's arrows and sword would teach a good lesson to anyone who dared think otherwise.

Kili impatiently stuck two fingers into Bilbo's mouth, and Bilbo looked a bit uncertain but still licked obediently, getting them wet with saliva, slid his tongue between and lapped at the sensitive fingertips, and it sent sparkles running down Kili's skin. He groaned and dropped his head on Bilbo's chest. If he didn't last long, Bilbo might forever think of him as less of a man than those Bilbo left behind, and that looked upsettingly more and more probable with each passing moment. He breathed hard into warm fair skin, each gulp of air getting him increasingly drunk on the smell, earthy and salty and heady.

He raised his head, and whatever Bilbo saw on his face made him inhale sharply and lean in for a frenzied kiss. Kili marvelled, hazily, how their bodies fit so perfectly, were so flush against each other that if they were any closer, their skin might have melted into one. He moved his fingers, down there, getting one in, and groaned into Bilbo's lips: hot, soft, velvety, contracting around his finger, and all he could think of was that he had to get another finger in, now, and maybe he dimly registered the way Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through clenched teeth, but he said nothing so Kili figured it was alright.

And Bilbo's body was so tight around his second finger, as if it were untouched, never invaded by other men than him, and Kili _wanted_, wanted so desperately he feared his heart might burst, and he couldn't wait any longer, and no-one of the dwarves he had bedded never wasted much time on these dalliances anyway.

He slid in, and Bilbo keened, high and whiny, and threw his head back, baring his throat. White it was, milky-white and so blindingly exposed, and the sight of it stole the remains of Kili's reason.

He leaned in to lick it, then pushed inside, and again, and again, and again, each thrust more forceful than the previous, the clutch of the dizzying hotness around him making his mind go blissfully blank.

The heat in his groin was coiling into a knot, a tightly wound spring, and when the last thrust sent him over the edge, a force as powerful as a lightning in a thunder-battle rushed through his body, thrumming in every single muscle, making his vision black out and his body jolt in the throes of ecstasy.

When the blistering wave ebbed away, Kili was left pleasantly boneless and floating. He lay draped over Bilbo's unmoving body, breathed deep, and grinned like a loon. He had never known laying with someone could be so overwhelmingly wonderful.

At last, he rose on his elbows to look at Bilbo's face – and found that his eyes were scrunched tight and his lower lip was bleeding.

That was strange, Kili thought. He did not remember biting Bilbo's mouth that viciously. He brushed against it with his finger, and Bilbo winced and flinched away.

Kili, now genuinely worried, pulled out and saw blood.

"Well, that didn't go so well," Bilbo said, trying to smile.

Kili stared in horror at what he had done. Then he turned around and fled.

That wasn't very brave, he supposed, or very manly at all. Kili feared no enemy and faced danger with a bold smile and a drawn bow – but no power in the world could have made him face Bilbo Baggins right now. The shame was unbearable, and his guilt lay heavy on his shoulders.

oooooooo

Bilbo went around as if nothing happened, and the smile on his face looked so genuine Kili could have believed yesterday night had been but a nightmarish dream if it wasn't for the slight limp in Bilbo's gait. The others seemed to think nothing of it, probably believing it a consequence of the hobbit's mysterious misadventures in the caves, but Kili knew better, and every time he saw Bilbo wince while sitting down a fresh wave of burning shame hit him anew, draining away his courage and rendering him unable to so much as look into Bilbo's eyes.

He wished he could ask for forgiveness, but such was his cowardice that every time he sought Bilbo out from the crowd to plead his pardon, a single look at those lips made him remember how pale they were that night, how dark the blood on them was in the ghostly light of the waning moon, and all courage left Kili, as if he were but a child who hadn't yet earned the right to wield a weapon and to speak for himself at council. Bilbo did try to talk to him several times, but a mere thought of facing him terrified Kili more than a pack of wargs – and so he stayed away, torn and faltering. And while Fili, or uncle Thorin, or venerable Balin might have noticed something was off, they mercifully didn't say anything, so Kili was spared that talk, at least.

The moon was full and round and yellow like a fine cheese wheel, and the countless stars in the vast darkness of the night sky shone as brilliantly as the brightest jewels in dwarven treasuries, and Kili sat down for his watch, resigning himself for a night-long vigil riddled with hesitation and regrets and the slow, agonizing burn of desire that simmered in his loins ever since that fateful night. At least that wouldn't let him fall asleep on his shift, he thought glumly, lighting up a pipe.

He never heard the stealthy steps behind his back.

"Why do you keep avoiding me?" Bilbo asked quietly, stepping out of the shadows. Kili choked on the smoke and started coughing violently. Bilbo helpfully smacked him on the back.

"I– I– I'm sorry!" Kili finally coughed out. And then, it was as if a dam broke inside him. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I mistreated you. I'm sorry I failed you. I know you probably won't want me near you ever again, but–"

Bilbo blinked, then opened his mouth, then closed it, then cut Kili off with a small hand on his lips.

"Stop talking," he said. "Or thinking, for that matter. You're not really good with it, you know."

Kili nodded. So Bilbo wasn't going to call down eternal damnation on him. That was – good. Probably. Hopefully.

"I'm assuming that wasn't intentional," Bilbo mused. "You know, the 'being so rough your partner actually bleeds' thing."

Kili nodded jerkily and wished, in vain, for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"Is that something you dwarves do?" Bilbo inquired. He seemed genuinely curious. "Is that how you make love?"

"Yes," Kili said hoarsely. Bilbo's frame seemed so very slight and frail to him, so unlike the dwarvish robust sturdiness. How he longed to feel that frame against him, one more time. But what right had he to ask for one more chance? Any reasonable person would surely turn down such an inconsiderable lover, and–

Bilbo kissed him – short, close-lipped and yet still breathtaking.

"Lie down," he ordered.

"Wha– "

"Just follow my lead," Bilbo said tetchily. "Can you do that? Follow?"

Kili would have brought him a dragon's head on a stick if it meant winning his favour back. He nodded, edgily, and lay down.

"We have to be quiet," Bilbo said. "Remember: do not make any noise, or this might get very awkward."

Kili turned his head to look at the dwarves peacefully snoring some ten feet away or so and mouthed his assent.

But then again, he thought, no reasonable hobbit would have left his safe cosy home for a journey to the dragon's lair. Their Mr. Baggins truly was one of a kind.

Bilbo straddled his thighs and unlaced his breeches. Kili watched. He kept still as Bilbo produced a vial of oil somewhere from his pocket. He tried exceedingly hard not to make a sound when Bilbo slipped a finger inside himself, but that was proving to be increasingly difficult.

Bilbo seemed to take ages preparing himself, and Kili, mesmerized, watched the fingers disappear and slide out, glistening with oil, and just when he thought he couldn't handle this exquisite torture anymore, Bilbo leaned in and panted:

"This, this – isn't enough, not yet, but I – I can't wait any longer," and sank down on him in one fluid motion. Kili couldn't help but cry out into Bilbo's mouth, dry and chapped and still so unbearably soft, and Bilbo licked the moan off his lips – and moved.

It was slow enough, Kili thought, to drive him insane, and the time seemed to trickle like molasses, sweet and viscous, trapping him inside like a fly in amber. Kili watched Bilbo's face, the way his eyes fluttered shut and his lips fell open, the way sweat gathered on his temples and above his upper lip, the way his hair fell on his forehead; Kili watched his thighs rise and fall, felt every movement and every tiny shiver, and the endless starry sky above them seemed so much less than this small man whose palm was still pressed to Kili's mouth.

He made a tiny "ah" sound when he came, and that sound drove Kili nigh insane. He gripped Bilbo's thighs so hard he squeezed out a muffled moan, but he was too far gone to think or listen.

Later, Bilbo nestled in close to Kili's chest, and Kili threw a hand around his shoulders as if to stop him from leaving, and Bilbo let him.

Life was good, Kili thought contentedly. Mad and confusing, but good. And the hobbit did not seem to condemn him – quite the opposite, in fact, so Kili probably could hope for the next time; an opportunity to show he had learned his lesson.

He glanced at the constellation of bruises adorning Bilbo's thighs and winced. Or maybe not.

"I'm not a gentle lass, you know," a sleepy whisper sounded. "I wouldn't be here at all if I couldn't handle a little pain. So don't you get all jumpy on me, and don't try to sneak away either, or I might have to find myself another dunderhead dwarf."

Kili looked down sharply, but the hobbit was already asleep.

Kili huffed, shrugged, and covered him with a cloak, reaching for his pipe. Staying awake might prove to be a difficulty at the moment, but now Kili had all kinds of new, exciting thoughts to keep him up all night.


End file.
